Page 30 of The Sun and the Moon
Changeis my least favorite word.
Not for how it sounds or the way it rolls off the tongue. It’s the way it grips me right in the throat like a clenching fist. It’s the wayit sends shoots of electricity from my heart to my stomach to my fingertips and toes. The flight response that has nothing to do with landing a plane.
Horrible, terrible, incredible.
Coming right for me no matter how hard I try to avoid it.
Chapter Thirteen
Cadence
Well, that plan got fucked.
Sydney’s text, sent moments after we left the restaurant last night. She followed it up with an apology, which she didn’t need to do. It isn’t her fault Moira bent the conversation to her will. I spent the rest of the night until I passed out worrying my mother’s probing her about her beliefs, digging at her surface to try to see what was underneath, would spook her. Sydney doesn’t seem easy to scare. She also doesn’t seem like a person who likes to be fenced in.
That conversation was barbed wire meant to trap.
I just can’t figure out if my mother is setting the trap solely for Sydney or for us both.
I can’t even examine the notion that she knows Sydney and I met at Kismet—there’s no logical reason to think that she would. But the spooky terror my mother dredges up in my soul isn’t based on logic, reason, or any of the things I hold most dear. It’s a deeper root, the kind you can’t just pull out. One that, in order to fullyunderstand, you’d need an advanced degree in psychology and an endless well of time and patience. Neither of which I have.
I won’t give in to the gnawing at my brain trying to convince me she was manipulating Sydney into discussing cosmic concepts because she knew how we met. Where we met. And even why.
You’ll meet your soulmate at Kismet, all because of me.
The specificity is a coincidence.
Sydney is not a romantic interest.
As if on cue, a black Audi rolls up to the curb opposite my rental car, and the bodacious blonde who is very much not in question climbs out. Dressed in painted-on jeans and a flouncy cobalt-blue sweater that hangs off one shoulder, exposing it bare. She closes the door with her ass because her hands are full with two to-go cups and her purse. She scans the road before crossing in front of my car to the passenger door.
She falls into the seat, the scent of rose and jasmine filling the car, likely from her perfume. She whips off her sunglasses, tucking them into her hair glamorously. She lined her upper lid in a shimmery golden brown before sweeping it with a similar coppery color. The combo, multiplied by the sweater, turns her eyes sapphire.
“Okay,” she says, thrusting a cup toward me. “Green tea with honey and lemon.”
I take it, openly baffled. “How did you know my order?”
Only one corner of her lip curls. “The coffee shop yesterday,” she says. “I pay attention to details, Ranger Girl.”
“Ranger Girl?” Apparently the only sentences I can muster this morning come in the form of questions.
“Trying it out,” she replies, taking a sip of her coffee. “Ranger Girl.” She says it again, the other corner of her lip curving up. “Ilike it.” I can’t tell if it’s the nickname or her little twist of a grin that sends a thrill straight through my center. Regardless, I take a deep drink of my tea to drown out the sensation. “Tell me we’re not just staking the place out,” she says. “Not after last night.”
Her lips flatten—all whimsy gone in a flash. I can feel her disappointment pulse through the air. I’m hoping the plan for today will help dispel the lingering bad taste of last night from her tongue.
“We very much are notjuststaking the place out,” I reply. “We’re going to follow Moira while she runs errands.”
Her eyes narrow. Interested, but skeptical.
“How do you know she’s going to be running errands?”
“I called Lola,” I say. “Told her I wanted to come by to go through some old stuff in the garage but didn’t want Moira to be around while I did it.”
“And that didn’t send up any red flags?”
“She’s acquainted with the bad blood between Moira and me. It would probably be more of a red flag to her if I was actively seeking out one-on-one time.”
“A legendary feud,” she says. The phrasing stokes those same warm embers in my stomach.
